


The Awkward Award Show and the Hard-On from Hell

by orphan_account



Category: AFI
Genre: Humor, M/M, New Years Eve, hustin burganlake
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-12
Updated: 2015-01-12
Packaged: 2018-03-07 07:55:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,199
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3167285
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hunter opts for hosting a stupid award show with none other than Justin Timberlake instead of being alone on New Years. Well, he definitely doesn’t end up being alone on New Years.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Awkward Award Show and the Hard-On from Hell

**Author's Note:**

> This was the first Hustin Burganlake I ever wrote, though not the first ever written. I think it still holds up. 
> 
> Also, it should be noted that we're getting into the ancient dredges of my body of work, back from when I didn't understand formatting or paragraph breaks. I'm trying to fix my former ignorance, but I only have so much time and patience, so there still might be so be mistakes. Bear with me.

Hunter was not queer in any way, shape, or form. It was just a fact of life. It wasn’t as if he was remotely homophobic or anything, after all he played bass for a band fronted by one of the most flaming homos he’d ever known. No, he wasn’t homophobic. In fact he was so utterly comfortable with his sexuality that he fearlessly bunked with Davey on multiple occasions when funds got tight, and even accompanied him to the occasional gay club or pride event when Adam was too tied up. (Jade wouldn’t touch that shit with a ten foot pole, despite the rest of the band’s suspicions.) Hell, Hunter’s best friend was a lesbian. He went to anti Prop 8 rallies with her. He went to her girlfriend’s house for dinner and watched reruns of the L word for hours talking about his feelings. He was a fuckin’ gold medal winning ally, right?

But still, Hunter just loved women. He wasn’t gay. Sure, Hunter danced with dudes when Davey dragged him to Rage or Mickey’s or whatever other club was having a boys night down in West Hollywood (oh, wait, West Hollywood was a boys night...), but never got a boner. Guys didn’t repulse him, they just didn’t do it for him. He liked a nice pair of tits as much as the next guy. 

So when the business with Justin Timberlake occurred, Hunter was kind of floored. In fact, so floored that all he could think about before the blowjob got too fuckin’ blissful was I can’t wait to call Davey and Tegan and tell them about this! Because the only thing that Hunter loved more than a nice pair of tits would be a really, really excellent blowjob. Ask any dude, they’ll agree, okay?

But Hunter was getting ahead of himself. Before the the business with Justin Timberlake, before the blissful blowjob, before all of that, there was the Awkward Award Show and the Hard on From Hell.   
~*~

Hunter was touring for Crash Love with the rest of AFI. They had a nice chunk of December off, for the holidays and whatnot. Adam spent it with his girlfriend, Davey and Jade got shipped off to the middle of fuckin’ nowhere Ukiah to visit the folks, and Hunter had no significant other and his parents were vacationing in the Bahamas like goddamn rockstars, so come New Years, Hunter’ planner was predictably empty.   
His options for bringing in the new decade were as follows: 

Fly to Vancouver and spent the date with Tegan and her girlfriend talking about their feelings and watching L word Re-runs. (Been there, done that. He never got invited in on the action, and lesbian action in real life was more along the lines of making tea, so he wasn’t exactly interested anymore.)

Attend the annual Aquabash, otherwise known as the Worst or Best Party of the year, depending upon who you talked to and how much you drank. To put it in perspective, the party was thrown by the Aquabats, who despite creating bright and cracked out children's’ shows, could pound forties like no one’s business and on the other end of the spectrum, Davey Havok abhorred the thing. To enjoy the Aquabash, you had to be Aquatrashed, and considering that Hunter hadn’t had a shot since his early twenties and really didn’t plan on ever partaking in that particular activity ever again, the Aquabash implied Hunter being the Aquababysitter. Babysitting was necessary not only because of the rampant drunkenness, but because of the inordinate amount of cheap, illegally acquired fireworks attempting to be set off by people engaging in that rampant drunkenness. Of course, Hunter would have a wonderful new collection of candid photos featuring full grown adults dressed like and acting like raver teenagers watching the ball drop amongst a forest of red cups and half empty bottles, Hunter wasn’t sure he felt like being the Designated Driver of the New Decade, or witnessing whatever club the Aquabats chose to rent out being set on fire. 

Stay home, alone, with his sparkling cider and old, water damaged box of sparklers be bought in Chinatown a million years ago. Order some vegan pizza if he was feeling especially ambitious. 

4\. Or, lastly choose to host an Award show for People Who Utilized Twitter as Magically as He Did with none other than Mr. Sexy Back himself, Justin Timberlake. 

This was the most peculiar and troublesome of his options. Hunter was sick of the L Word and would have rather not acted out the first half the Beautiful Thieves video at the Aquabash, (I stress first half because sure, Davey hated the thing but Hunter’s Aquababysitting also included making sure no poison got in the punch courtesy of certain raging straightedge nazi homos in his band.) Number one was too expensive for the payoff, and number two was too exhausting for the lack of sleep staying up to monitor drunks until midnight entailed. And number three? Number three was just fucking depressing. Truth of the matter was that Hunter was lonely, and wanted a girlfriend. or maybe not a girlfriend, but a nice pair of tits of blissful blowjob at the very least. 

he figured that number four was his best bet at acquiring these things. Obviously, the Aquabash at first glance seemed like a prime environment for scamming on girls, but recall, Hunter did not want a repeat of the Beautiful Thieves video. Drunken girls were not hot girls and did not lead to blissful blowjobs. In fact they often led to miserable grazes of teeth along the shaft, and that made what at first was just gross and smelled like beer slightly terrifying. So after a careful analysis of all his potential options, hunter decided that if he wanted to fraternize with women that were neither drunk nor homosexual, he better go host that stupid, most likely awkward award show. 

A number of things contributed to potential awkward scale of this shindig. First off, it was the second event Hunter had been invited to involving Twitter. This was embarrassing. It was embarrassing that there were more than one award shows in the world for people who wasted inordinate amounts of time on a website that revolved around the publishing of constant, one line updates on themselves. It was embarrassing that Hunter got invited to not one, but two of these events. Secondly, aside from the initial knee jerk mortification that he was apparently the King of Twitter, Hunter was perturbed that for whatever reason, he was supposed to share the throne with Justin Timberlake. Justin Timberlake? Did he even have a twitter? Hunter certainly didn’t follow him. In fact, Hunter had so little knowledge of Justin Timberlake that he wasn’t even sure if he was famous for anything aside from being in that stupid nineties boy band that had a lame ass acronym name. Goddamn acronym bands. 

So upon deciding that he really, truly had nothing better to do but spend his new years handing out awards for Most Tweets Tweeted in one Night with Mr. Cry me a River, Hunter googled the guy, just to figure out exactly who he was going to be reciting awkward scripted dialog with. His research revealed that not only had JT graduated from the Mickey Mouse Club and Nsync, he was a multi-platinum solo artist that was currently dating Jessica Biel, had dated Cameron Diaz, and at one point, Britney Spears before she was all up in the center of the ring just like a circus and shit. Aka, pre-trashy Britney. Hunter’s jaw dropped. He had made the right decision by far. This dude was suave, and if Hunter’s goal for New Years was to get a nice blowjob and a nice pair of tits, this guy seemed to have an A-List of connections. He still hadn’t found his Twitter, however, and decided the only way JT had gotten roped into this stupid benefit awards show was for some charity shit. That, and he’d look good onstage with Hunter, seeing as they were both fairly bald, fairly attractive, and from what Hunter had downloaded off of that FutureSex/Lovesounds album, sang in Prince-like falsettos whenever possible. 

Hunter decided this was the beginning of a beautiful friendship. Little did he know. 

~*~

Hunter showed up at the Stupid Twitter Thing in his car. His own car. Which he was driving. I mean, this wasn’t the fuckin’ Golden Globes, right? It was an award ceremony celebrating people who had no lives! Regardless, JT rolled up to the place in a chauffeured, sleek black panther looking fuckin’ limousine, God help him. Upon their separate grand or not so grand entrances, Hunter arrived at the conclusion that he really needed to take a leaf out of this kid’s book if he ever wanted a steady girlfriend. Girls liked class, liked suave dudes. Hunter had the potential to be suave, in fact he was a regular Prince Charming given the right Princess to use his wiles to attract. Maybe he was out of practice because he was just too picky. Or maybe he just worked to hard.

Hunter was pondering how his pickiness or workaholic nature may or may not have played into his long term single status when he was greeted at the door of the swanky hotel this bitch was being held at. Justin Timberlake was standing there in all his glory. JT offered a hand, flashing Hunter an utterly winning smile. “Hey, Mr. Burgan?” JT asked, practically yanking off Hunter’s arm in a firm handshake.   
“That’s me,” Hunter said cheerily, returning the cheesy grin. “And you’re Mr....” 

Hunter Struggled. He really wanted to say ‘Mr. Cry Me River, or, My Love,’ But one made assumptions about JT’s sensitivity, and the other made assumptions about Hunter’s sexuality, and both assumptions were pretty far off base. Hunter was used to joking with his queermo friends, his sort of queermo band, and herds and herds of frequently queermo fans. They all thought his sense of humor was grat, hilarious. He was a funny guy when he could make gay jokes to other gays, when he was in his element. This made Hunter realize that his fucking element was homosexuals. God, he really needed a change of scenery. 

Hunter was currently hanging out with an very famous person he hardly knew, whose political agenda and sense of humor were entirely unbeknownst to Hunter. He wished Davey was here, Davey was good at pleasantries and sparkly celebrity bullshit. Davey was capable of finding the one thing he had in common with whoever the person was, ex convict to teenage beauty queen to redneck to hardline sXe bro, and before the end of the night they were chatting and whispering and gossiping together like a pair of little highschool girls, exchanging numbers and planning dinner for next weekend. Hunter didn’t care nearly enough to make his social interactions run that smoothly. It wasn’t his style. He was more likely to make a funny, and if the person in question laughed, then maybe he’d pursue it, but if they didn’t appreciate his queermo jokes, then he knew he was wasting his time. I spite of all that, Hunter tried very hard not to make a queermo joke in front of JT. He had skills to learn, and didn’t want to isolate the guy and incidentally decrease the probability of their beautiful friendship commencing. 

“Mr. Timberlake,” Hunter ground out, resisting the overcoming urge to be awkward. 

“You can call me Justin,” JT said, and actually winked. He fucking winked. What a suave bastard. 

“Yeah well you can call me Hunter,” Hunter countered anti climactically. 

“Alright then, Hunter. So I’m hoping you’re not as irresponsible as I am and that you’ve memorized the lines...I’m terrible at memorization.” 

“Do you forget your own lyrics?” Hunter said automatically like a dumbs.

“All the time.” JT...sorry, Justin answered honestly, raising a shapely eyebrow. He was still holding Hunter’s hand in that firm grip, their gazes attached by some unseen force. Hunter felt like Justin was sizing him up, trying to get a grasp on something...his manhood, what sort of competition he may be, what sort of friend he could end up as. Or maybe he was just as freaked out by the resemblance as Hunter was. After all, Hunter was realizing that Justin could pass for his brown eyed, six-pack endowed brother. It was unsettling. 

“So, uh, about those lines...” Hunter coughed, dropping his milk-man twin’s considerable palm. 

“Yeah. They suck.” Justin nodded, following Hunter to the elevator. Supposedly this stupid award show was going to take place on the third floor of the ritzy hotel, according to the signs posted all over the lobby.

“No shit. I guess that makes it easier though, nothing to blow if it’s already blown, correct?” Hunter said. Justin looked at him funny, quirking that eyebrow again. Hunter was about to ask what the fuck he was staring at when Justin said, voice low, “Correct, man. One hundred percent correct.” 

 

Weird. That should have been some kind of indication. 

“So, no body guard?” Hunter asked conversationally once they’d been ushered into the backstage area of the convention room to wait, rubbing his hands together. He was really ready to finish these pleasantries so he could get on with the girlfriend acquiring business. Learn from the master, if you will. 

“Nah, I work out. I can take care of myself...after all, who’d be attacking? Some ex N-sync fangirl? No problem.” Justin flexed. Hunter tried not to roll his eyes. Sure, JT had nice arms but his biceps were just as impressive, and he could play an instrument with them. Take that, Sexy Back. Girls fell for this guy? Seriously? 

“Right, right. N-sync,” Hunter mumbled, thumbing through their cue cards and cringing at all the horrible, staged dialog they’d have to be saying together. About Twitter. The future of this award show was seemingly bleak, so they better get down to work. 

“This material really is awful.” Hunter sighed.

“No shit...we’re gonna have to be half way drunk in order to deliver them with a straight face.” That perplexing wink again. 

“Whoa, man I don’t drink.” Hunter said, holding up his hands. Justin regarded him with the blank, confused look of someone who does't understand a native language. The look Davey gave that interviewer when he asked him about the monster. Complete lack of comprehension. 

“I don’t mean getting wasted, just a shot or two to lighten up, you know.” Justin said, shrugging the whole thing off. 

“Yeah, that’s fine, I just don’t drink.”

“At all?!” All the nice stubble on Justin’s jaw and upper lip was framing a shocked looking, incredulous mouth. Hunter realized they had the same facial hair. It disturbed him. 

“At all.”

“Whooooaaa. Whoa. Fuck. Whoa. I’ve never met someone who...whoa.” JT nodded to himself, shocked. 

“You should meet two thirds of the remaining members of AFI,” Hunter assured Justin. 

“Them too?!”

“More so than me.”

“Well I’ll be damned.” Justin pulled a handle of vodka out of thin air like he was magical, followed by two shot glasses. “They’re not here, so I can’t do jack shit about that...” He poured two shots, passing one across the glass coffee table top towards Hunter. “But I can pop your cherry, right?” ANOTHER GODFORSAKEN WINK. If Hunter didn’t know that this dude was actually boning Jessica Biel, he would be worried he was fuckin’ hitting on him. Jeez. 

“I don’t think you get it. I don’t drink.” Hunter tried to sound nice about it, tried not to sound irritated. Tried and probably failed.   
“At all?!”

“AT ALL.”

“Suit yourself,” Justin shrugged, downing both shots in rapid succession, one right after the other. Hunter was kind of horrified, kind of impressed.   
“Bottoms up!” Justin grinned wickedly. 

“Come on dude, let’s get this shit over with, right?” Hunter begged. 

“Right. Let’s blow it.” Justin said with another terrifying, sly grin. Hunter narrowed one eye. This guy was a fuckin’ piece of work, suave bastard or not. 

~*~

Hunter was correct on one assumption, incorrect on another. He was completely dead on in the sense that the Stupid Fucking Awkward Award Show was Fucking Awkward. Really fucking awkward. The dialog was predictably clunky, and no one laughed at the one liners, and Hunter only recognized a grand total of two or three Twitter award winners he was presenting to. The other ninety percent were stupid scene kids from bands whose names were too long, soap opera actors, or stupid hipster designers in oversized cardigans and ray bans. It was an awful turnout. The only thing that made the experience halfway bearable was none other than Mr. Cry me a River. 

Once Hunter got past the fact the guy was sort of conceited asshole, made frequent double entendres about blow jobs, and pounded shots of vodka the entire time they were supposed to be practicing their routine, he was pretty good natured. He was great to have around for a laugh or two, and after that awful award show business, a laugh or two was exactly what Hunter needed. Justin, however, was on a different page.

“I need a drink or two. Or ten.” Justin laughed, doubling over at the waist once they’d made it safely into the backstage area sputtering with mirth, nearly in tears.   
“I guess I could go for a drink. Metaphorically, of course.” Hunter chuckled back, clutching his stomach. This had quite possibly been one of the worst nights of his life.He probably would have been better off shelling out three hundred bucks to fly out to Vancouver, or maybe trying his luck with supervising firework lighting at the Aquabash. At least this night had been terrible to the point of ensuing hilarity. 

“Hey, how bout I take us out for drinks? You can order a Shirley temple or whatever, I don’t care. It’s on me.” Justin was shucking off his sports coat and button up, revealing that bronzed and muscled chest. It made Hunter feel remotely self conscious about his own thin, if not wiry frame. Seeing as they were practically identical, the dude must be on steroids. Yeah, that was it. 

“At a bar?” Hunter asked skeptically. He checked his watch. That train wreck of an award show seemed like it lasted forever, but it was a whole two hours before the new year. He might as well go out, learn a few tips from Justin Timberfuck’s even though he acts like a queermo. 

“Yeah man, a bar. Since when does not drinking mean you can’t step foot inside a bar?”

Hunter thought about it. It wasn’t like he was straightedge or anything. 

“Nah, nah. I’m down. We definitely deserve a break after that fucking mess.”

“Word, dude. Word.” 

And that’s how Hunter ended up sitting side by side with a very drunk Justin Timberlake in a bar in Los Angeles on New Years Eve, sucking at the maraschino cherry in his Shirley Temple. A surreal experience if Hunter had ever had one. And it was the weird truth, but Hunter was bizarrely enjoying the hell out of Justin’s company, even though said company was throughly inebriated. 

“You know, Hunter? I like you,” Justin slurred, slapping his palm down gracelessly on Hunter’s narrow thigh. Hunter cringed, squirming under the sweaty clap. “You don’t drink, whichis weird...but I like you...because you’re...funny.” Justin slammed his martini glass down forcefully on the bar top, gesturing heartily to the mini TVs hung over the bar, each broadcasting the ball drop. Millions of drunken, freezing cold New Yorkers faces shone in excitement, all of which had probably passed out by now. Justin and Hunter had somehow acquired matching gold plastic bowler hats and noise makers, one of which was currently hanging out of Justin’s mouth as he asserted his newfound affection for Hunter. 

“I like you too, JT,” Hunter shouted over the noisy bar din. He supposed that surviving that bastard award show was enough of a bonding experience that he’d graduated from Justin to JT. Justin made no move to correct him, so Hunter decided they were good. After all, the guy bought him a round of sodas. They could be friends now. 

“That thing was so motherfucking awful!!” Justin yelled for the umpteenth time that night. “Mother fucker.”  
Hunter agreed with him. It had been terrible. Not to mention that when Hunter was bored out of his mind, he fantasized about lesbians making out like any other guy. This usually resulted in pleasant daydreams, but sometimes pesky, unavoidable boners. JT was pretty drunk, so Hunter thought that if he revealed his particular fact about his nether anatomy, it wouldn’t offend. It might not even register. So he did it. 

“Yeah, I mean aside from the fact it was just awkward to begin with, I had the worst boner of all time for like, the whole second half.”   
“No shit dude, really?!” JT coughed, spitting up some of his martini. A martini, really. Fuckin’ queer, that martini. What kind of hot, buff dude like Justin Timberlake drank martinis? And not just any martinis, lime green, effervescent martinis. Appletinis, to be exact. Where the hell did Jessica Biel find this guy? Metro(sexual) station? 

“Yeah, it was awful. I had to hold the cue cards over my crotch like some middle school kid going up to the chalk board with a raging hard on.” Hunter expected a hearty chuckle in response. After all, if any of his friends much less someone he had just met divulged this little tidbit to him, that’s the response he would have had. 

But no, What happened next was the turning point in Hunter’s New Years Eve. 

He should have flown to Canada into Lesbiland. 

He should have played fire marshall at the Aquabash. 

Hell, he should have stayed home with his sparklers. Anything had to be better than what just happened. 

Because in response to Hunter uttering the phrase “raging hard on,” Justin Motherfucking Timberlake, Sexy Back, Cry me a River, N-Sync, MICKEY FUCKIN’ MOUSE CLUB, reached into Hunter’s lap, winked another one of those winks, and said, “Still have that problem to take care of?” In this low, terrifying, husky voice. Hunter was too shocked to be grossed out or to even think about the fact a male, supposedly heterosexual, A List celebrity was grabbing his junk in a highly public place on the most crowded club night of the year. So instead appropriately freaking out, he just stared slack jawed at the guy. 

“Uh...come again...?” He said dumbly, cheeks reddening under the brim of his gold bowler. That thing was fuckin’ cheap, dimestore cheap. His junk was in Justin Timberlake’s palm. And to top the whole weird ass situation off, with a maraschino cherry, the problem in question was back. As troublesome as ever. That fucking hard on from hell.

“I think...” Justin mumbled, eyes narrowed and latched onto Hunter’s, “I think...yeah.” 

Hunter figured this was Justin’s attempt at dirty talk. Too bad he was drunk and all the suaveness that landed him that sweet deal with Jessica Biel had dissipated.

“Um, I think you should let go of my junk,” Hunter said gently, trying to disentangle JT’s grip from his gonads. 

“Um, I think your dick is saying otherwise.” 

“I think you’re full of shit.”

“I think we should get out of this bar. Get to bathroom, maybe,” JT slurred, slapping Hunter’s own hand away from his own dick. 

“I think...Uh, okay.” 

Hunter will never know why he agreed.Probably because he didn’t make a distinction between leaving to the bathroom to take this whole mess further and leaving to the bathroom to avoid angry paparazzi and general discomfort from the public observing the dick-grope. He was just glad to get out of the limelight, sitting right there at that bar where anyone could see the peril his balls were in. He totally disregarded the fact that by agreeing to his little lavatory visit, he was putting his balls in even more peril. 

He didn’t think about this the entire, painful few minutes it took JT to drag his own drunk ass off the barstool, grab Hunter by the wrist, and get lost a few times before they found the mens bathroom. A few other, similarly drunk bros were pissing in the urinals, and Hunter cringed and hid under his golden bowler while Justin pushed him into a stall, latching the door behind both of them. That’s when Hunter realized the situation he’d gotten himself into. He was locked in a bathroom with a drunk guy who wanted in his pants. This is what it must feel like to be a woman at a bar, taken advantage of and objectified. His heart went out to all those sisters he felt immediately bonded to.

All of these thoughts coursed through Hunter’s head in a matter of seconds, however, because JT didn’t give him much time to think before he tore the noisemaker from his lips and sealed his wet, Appletini mouth over Hunter’s, kissing him hungrily. He tasted like alcohol and those carmel apple pops Hunter handed out at halloween to trick of treaters. So this forced Hunter to imagine he was kissing a drunk trick or treater, some little kid in a sheet-made ghost costume or something, and if he wasn’t disgusted before he sure as hell was now.

“Dude what the fuck are you doing?!” Hunter hissed, shoving JT off, backed against the wall of a bathroom stall and feeling quite ravished. He thought he heard one of the bros outside mumble, “was that the kid from N-sync?” “Nah, that dude’s dating that babe, not his own brother...”

“What. Are. You. Doing?!” Hunger reiterated. 

“Giving you what you want,” Justin panted, palms hard against Hunter’s shoulders, keeping his back flush with the wall. 

“Um I can assure you, I most certainly don’t want--”

Justin cut him off, his apple tasting tongue probing past Hunter’s teeth and slurping along the roof of his mouth, too much spit and too much stubble and Hunter realized this is the first time he’s ever made out with a guy. And not only made out with a guy, but had his dick squeezed by a guy, because JT was definitely palming Hunter through his jeans, hands rough and firm and warm and goddamnit, Hunter really did have a hard on. He couldn’t help it. It had been awhile since he’d gotten laid, and there was a hand on his dick.

“Mmm how bout I get these fuckers off and suck you dry?” Justin breathed crudely, and Hunter was horrifyingly aware of some big ass drunk guy pissing like a horse in the stall right next to them. The most unsexy noise in the world and he still had a boner. HIs hat had gotten knocked off in the heated kiss, and was now resting in some dubious puddle on the floor.

“I’m straight!” Hunter huffed, finally getting some leverage behind his grip and really letting Justin and his lack of motor skills have it, slamming him up against the adjacent wall. “Me too,” JT answered cheekily. God, what a smackable little bastard.Then Hunter got angry. Got sick of it, of those winks and grins and thigh slaps. Hunter had enough. 

“You have been nothing but fuckin’ teasing me all night, dude, so if you’re gonna get down to business, you better fucking get down to business, and by down to business I mean down to your knees,” Hunter growled, getting right the fuck up in JT’s flushed face. Hunter didn’t know what had gotten into him. He suddenly went from feeling a camaraderie with his objectified sisters to slamming Sexy Back up against a bathroom stall and ordering him to suck his dick. When did this happen? When did he get so ballsy? And could he actually let a drunk person get him off? Was that okay? Hell, it wasn’t like he was straightedge or anything...

Yes, Hunter could defiantly do this. 

Justin looked a little terrified, but he immediately regained his suave composure and answered Hunter with a wink, swaying on the spot before obeying him. Hunter’s legs were quaking, and he didn’t quite believe this was happening, that Justin Motherfucking Timberfuck was dropping to his knees in front of him, watching and practically drooling as Hunter unbuttoned his pants with shaking, clumsy fingers. His painful erection spring free, bobbing centimeters away from those lips that were a near mirror image of Hunter’s own, only slicked with saliva, red, plump, waiting. Hunter suddenly wanted nothing more than Mickey Mouse Club Boy to swallow his dick in a fuckin’ public restroom on New Years Eve. Not only wanted it, needed it.

“You’re so hot,” Justin slurred, grabbing hold of Hunter’s hips. “I’ve been wanting to suck you off since I first saw you.”   
What a conceited bastard! Hunter thought, remembering their ridiculous resemblance. But really, who the fuck cared? The only thing Hunted liked more than a nice pair of tits was a nice blowjob, and he was determined to come in this dude’s mouth tonight. So without another second passing for drunk JT to blabber all over Hunter’s hotness anymore, Hunter grabbed the guy’s head by the crewcut and dragged that shining mouth over his dick. This was more like it. 

 

The way Hunter imagined this thing playing out, he thought he’d have to fuck JT’s slack mouth. He figured the dude had never given another guy a blow job before. After all, Hunter certainly didn’t have any experience in that field. He thought he would have to take the reins seeing as Justin was not only a hetero, but trashed. Hunter was wrong again though. Justin definitely, even under the influence of vodka shots and appletinis, knew how to give bombass head. Even with all the alcohol he had consumed, Justin could take Hunter in impressively far, not to mention his tongue was quick and wet and oh so good. And there were no traces of teeth, which was more than Hunter could say for all the other drunken blow jobs he’d ever received. 

Hunter could not wrap his mind around this fact. Justin Timberlake had sucked dick before. There was a dude, sucking his dick, and he was awesome at it. Hell, there was a dude sucking his dick, period. What a way to bring in the new year! He couldn’t wait to call Tegan and Davey and tell them that he had his first gay experience, and with none other than Justin Timberlake of boy band and Sexy Back prestige. Davey would be so jealous!

Hunter was on his way to more coherent thoughts, fingers entangled in the close cropped hair on Justin’s scalp, guiding his talented, slobbering mouth along the length of his cock, when he just blissed out. This was just too good, the tongue lashing gently across the underside, the lips pulling into a plush pucker at the head whenever he almost let go, the dark look in Justin’s eyes whenever he swallowed around Hunter’s dick, the slight wince whenever he gagged. It was fuckin’ beautiful. After a certain point of goodness, Hunter stopped thinking all together, closing his eyes and letting the muscles in his legs to gather in taut expectation, ready to spasm then relent once he---oh fuck, there it was. There was that coming in the mouth he was talking about. He was just about there. Somewhere, a bunch of people were counting down, 10, 9, 8, 7, 6...

5, 4, 3, 2...1

Hunter jizzed with one startled yelp, one hand tightening against the curve of JT’s skull, the other flying back somewhere in the bathroom resulting in Hunter throwing his elbow into the wall and nearly hitting his goddamn funny bone. 

Happy Fucking New Year. 

“Oh shit...” Hunter gasped once he’d regained his senses of sight and sound, although bleary and buzzing. his eyes fell on Justin, eyes watering, mouth wet and well fucked. He looked a little undone, a lot satisfied. The suave little bastard had swallowed, there he was wiping his lips on the sleeve of his shirt. 

“You’re welcome,” He said, smiling dopily just like a dog, like he’d just come, too. 

“Uh, want me to return the favor?” Hunter asked sheepishly, not quite sure about the nuances of blow job etiquette. He didn’t exactly want JT’s dick in his mouth, but he thought he might be able to handle it. 

“What?! Dude, that’s gay,” Justin slurred, and held his fist up for Hunter to pound it. 

Well. Hunter could roll with that.

~*~

The next morning, Hunter woke up in his apartment, sprawled and achy and exhausted. The second he remembered why he was so happy, he leapt out of bed, racing to yank his cell phone off of the charger. He dialed Davey’s number, hopping from one foot to the other as he waited for him to pick up, staring at his own bedraggled reflection in the bedroom mirror. 

“Hey baby, talk dirty to me,” Davey purred. 

“Dave, you will not believe what happened to me last night.” Hunter rasped in a morning voice, dead pan and serious.

“Well Happy New Year, Davey, how was your evening? Fine thanks Hunter, you’re such a doll for asking...” 

Hunter could actually see Davey right now, phone held between his shoulder and ear while he picked at his nail polish. That man cut his hair years ago, but Hunter still visualized him twirling the long black strands around fingers in that bored, diva-status way he used to whenever he talked to him on the phone.   
“Dude, this is serious.” Hunter begged.

“Okay okay fine. What happened that couldn’t wait until the next time I see you?”

“Three guesses.” 

“You got laid,” Davey’s voice didn’t change, but Hunter could almost hear his eyes rolling in exasperation on the other line. Just wait. 

“Yeah, well, by who?” Hunter asked slyly, barely unable to conceal his ecstatic grinning. He was five seconds away from throwing himself down on the bed and spazzing in some kind of happy dance. He was so. proud. of. this. lay. 

“Um...someone famous?! I don’t know Hunter, who is she?” 

Oooh, time for the punch line. 

“ What makes you think it was a she?” Hunter fist pumped to himself in the mirror. Fuck yeah Davey, take that. Triumph! Of course, there was dead silence on the other end. He was now picturing Davey’s mouth hanging open, one pretty, manicured hand slapped across it. 

“You didn’t,” Davey finally said, voice hushed. 

“I did.”

“YOUR FIRST GAY EXPERIENCE AND I WASN’T THERE WATCHING?! You asshole!” Davey shrieked, and Hunter could hear something crash in the background, like Davey had dropped an expensive urn or box full of silverware. 

“Yeah, and guess who it was.”

“If it was Johnny Depp I am shooting you, skinning you, feeding the remains to Jade’s dog, and hanging the skin on the wall to throw darts at.” Davey was serious, venom in his voice. he was good at coming up with elaborate and colorful ways to metaphorically kill his friends when the occasion called for it.

“Justin Timberlake.” 

More silence on the other end. Hunter might have heard some swearing. 

“Jesus fuckin’ christ, you lucky bastard.” 

“He knew what he was doing, too” Hunter smiled to himself, palming his junk with the fond memories of last night’s blissful blow job.

“Okay, okay, before you tell me every single sordid detail with sound effects and video texted diagrams of positioning, lemme hand the phone to Jade.”

“What?! Jade’s with you?”

“You only told me this because you thought I was the gayest member of the band, right?”

Touche, Hunter thought. Can’t get much gayer than Dave. Unless…

“Well, yeah.”

“Try again.” 

Oh really now? Hunter had known this one all along. Now he could really picture Davey, lounging shirtless in bed with an equally half clothed Jade, both of their hair mussed from last night’s sex. Bingo. 5, 4, 3, 2, 1. Happy Fucking New Year. Adam and Hunter had countless, unfinished bets revolving around this very issue. Whoever Jade Admits it To First Wins 100 Bucks. Whoever Finds out Which One of Them Tops Wins 500 Bucks. 200 Bucks on Jade, 700 on Davey. Whoever Walks in On The Javeys on the Bus Loses Both Eyes and 300 Bucks. There were all those stories on the internet, and Adam and Hunter believed half of them. It wasn’t hard to when you lived with them. Hunter was already adding up his winnings...

“He takes it up the ass from you, doesn’t he?” Hunter asked, trying to remember where his calculator was. Let’s see, 700 plus 500 plus 100….

“I’ll let him tell you.” Davey sighed, and Hunter gave another triumphant fist pump. 

Even though Hunter was not queer in any way, shape, or form,1300 dollars and a blissful blow job sure beat the hell out of even the nicest part of tits. 

Happy fuckin’ New year, Hunter thought.


End file.
